Kibougamine Realms - Wedding Day
by GoddessOfConquest
Summary: "Her head raised, she exited the chapel. It was for the best." A simple story about a simple girl who hated herself for what she was. [epic fantasy au, complex storyline]


Your name is Kirigiri Kyouko, and you just don't understand.

He was wonderful. Tall, strong, brilliant. A swordsman, free of any battle scars; just that brain to her brawn, and a lovely conversationalist, at that! He was dressed to the nines in his nicest dress robes; highly decorated armorlike cloth, sans headgear. His bright, violet eyes connected to hers, and he smiled.

And she was stunning. —Then again, the Kirigiri family was known for their aesthetics, and damn,was the budding Kyouko no different, a simple carbon copy of her mother. Her dress was floor—length, a traditional white silk evening gown. Her long, lilac hair was done up into a braided bun as per her own request. Her hands, scarred from secrets, were covered by long gloves of the same color.

Her hands were taken softly into his, eyes of the same hue connecting with one another. He was happy, she was ecstatic. And for once, it looked like Kyouko was going to get her happy ending. Sheer delight ran through her skin, decorating it with the tiniest of goosebumps. It was a very strange, a very new sensation, but she never would have said she didn't like it.

He spoke, his voice music to he s. Her eyes closed as he spoke, listening to those oh-so-lovely vows she caught him practicing in his — no, their— foyer mirror. Such elegant words, the perfect combination of honor and sincerity. I love you, she heard come from those beautiful pink lips of his, and she knew he meant it. Her hand was raised to his lips, pressing down on her ring finger, the place he would soon claim as his own with a band of silver and gold.

And thus, the stage was hers, the cue given by the priest in front of her, the temperature of her own skin rising with the gaze of everyone in the chapel. Her lips parts, a blush rising to her cheeks. The logical and analytical young woman spoke from her heart, not her head, and her once monotonous, serious voice filled with emotion, and memories of the two of them.

A moonlight walk.

Watching him leave for war.

The thoughts of missing him.

Watching him return from war.

The proposal.

The wedding.

And her words struck the audience, both families brought to tears, the groom forcing away his actions, saving them for the "I do". The priest might have even been touched a bit, yet his stature was still strong, important.

And so, the book in the priest's hands was re-opened, the ceremony continued. A silk scarf was wrapped around the wrists of bride and groom, symbolizing the unity to come. His hands gripped hers, those two words to confirm everything no longer a desire, but a necessity—

Not tonight. The soft whizzing of an object flying in midair captured the attention of both bride and groom, their heads turning to face the object in mention: a knife flying in at ungodly speeds, directed at the young girl's fiance.

And, in instinct and lack of logic, it froze. Various colored eyes planted themselves on the couple, widened in shock, in horror. The groom's eyes were clenched tight, awaiting his death, and y e t,it never came.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes opened, looking down in horror as the scene he feared the most unveiled in front of him. His bride took the defense, standing in front of him. Instead of the blade piercing her skin and rendering him a widower, it hovered in midair right between her eyes, spinning softly. Her irises glowed a brilliant violet, unwavering confidence stopping the blade. Cling. A beat of breath, a knife falling to the floor as a young girl realized what she had done.

[ They can never see you for who you are, Kyouko. ]

Oh, how her mother would be so disappointed, bless her soul.

And so then, she became a stranger in her own skin, the god-awful sense of loneliness returning to the girl. Her groom became an enemy; she became trapped in a room full of people who hated her, who adored her an hour ago.

It's best if you leave.

Those words came from the person she cared about the most. Upon her father's request, Kyouko drew her father's weapon, her hair falling to her back with the removal of one pin. It was bunched, then cut. The once elegant, long, violet hair that cascaded down her back was cut off at her chin.

She would not allow them to bastardize her.

Her head raised, she exited the chapel. After all, it was for the best.


End file.
